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At nightfall, after having covered about fifteen wretched miles, we reached a construction camp where an American nobleman, disguised as a section-boss, gave us food and lodging in the little palm-leaf shack that served as his temporary home. It was barely big enough for one, but he made it do for three.
For, as he had proceeded with his crude mimicry, the imagination of the others had filled in the scenes he could not sketch. The section-boss spoke first. Not incapable of feeling, yet disliking to show emotion because it might be counted a weakness, he hastened to clear the air. "Say, Dallas," he drawled, with a survey of the battle-field, "he ought t' had some red Mexican beans fer his Injuns."
He gave them a magnificent bow. "Mornin', mornin'," he said, and walked out. Lancaster went back to the hearth, fairly weak with delight. Dallas and Marylyn joined him. "W'at d' y' think!" gurgled their father. "Say, he ain't got th' sense he ought 'a' been born with!" "Don't like him," Dallas declared. "Pig eyes," suggested Marylyn. At that the section-boss calmed.
One day brought a totally unexpected visitor, whom Lancaster recognised with some misgivings as the United States land-agent at Bismarck. The section-boss was soon reassured, however. The agent said that, having business near Brannon, and remembering that Lancaster wished to file an entry on the bend when the first claimant's six months were up, he had come by.
"Say, you ain't no South'ner," he cried. "Jes' a slick Yank. Ah c'n see through you like winda-pane!" Braden laughed again, tapping the shoulder of the section-boss. "You ain't wise," he confided. "Farmin' out here with cows around means fences. But hang on if you want to. It's your land." He ended this with a jovial slap, and made for the door. From it, he could see the girls.
"Settle due east of you, sir," was the answer. "My name's Braden Al Braden. I'm from Sioux Falls." "Won't y' come in?" "Tickled t' death!" They entered the shack, Lancaster leading. Dallas and Marylyn glanced up in surprise from the fireplace, and arose hastily. "M' gals," said the section-boss, motioning their visitor to a bench.
"Would you know it if you heard it?" "W'y, yes 'twas some ornery name." "Was it was it Matthews?" Complete bewilderment spoke from Lancaster's wide-open eyes and mouth. He whirled about upon the evangelist and seized the reins. Shadrach came to a squatting stop, his ears turning round to catch a command. "Thet's it! Thet's it!" cried the section-boss. "An' how d' you know?"
Yet never before on the sundown side of the Mississippi had he seen one who possessed, along with the reserve a lonely bringing-up enjoins, the dignity and poise that are counted the fruits of civilisation. "It's good blood," he said to himself, "and" with a glance at the section-boss "it's from the mother's side." Lancaster, at that moment, was truly anything but a picture of repose.
"Now, I know!" David Bond exclaimed. A halloo sounded from the shack. Facing that way they saw the section-boss. He was standing just outside the door, balanced on one crutch. The other he was thrusting angrily at the ground. "You see!" said Dallas. "You see! And he can't help it. Poor dad!" The evangelist groaned and held out a hand. "Dear girl," he said, "it is good-by.
His hand reached for the latch. "Mr. Lounsbury!" Dallas made a swift step toward him. Now, the section-boss came about. Lounsbury was reminded of the day on the plowed strip. For he saw that Lancaster was all a-tremble, and panting as if spent with a hard run. "M' gal!" he cried sternly. Dallas stepped back and touched her father's arm. And her remonstrance was the remonstrance of that other day.
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